


the road to being okay is long, dark, and lonely

by thenewromantics



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, General Bad Feelings, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mike Wheeler is Not Okay, Negative Thoughts, but he will be, set between seasons 1 and 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewromantics/pseuds/thenewromantics
Summary: mike wheeler is not okay. but he's gotten pretty good at pretending to be. a look at the year without el.





	the road to being okay is long, dark, and lonely

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends. long time no see, yeah. i know it's been literal months since i updated anything and i'm returning with a random one shot, but yeah, you don't choose the muse. the muse chooses you. this fic came to me about a month ago and i've been chipping away at it ever since i thought of it and i'm so proud and happy that it's finally finished. i've been wanting to write a fic like this forever now, and the result is something i can say i'm truly proud of. 
> 
> mike has always been such a fascinating character to me and while this idea has been done before, i wanted to give my own take on it. so, i give you, the Year Without El. 
> 
> warnings: mentions of self harm (nothing explicit, i promise, but definite mentions of it), general negative thoughts, language. 
> 
> enjoy.

**Late November 1983**

It was the worst at night. 

He knows it sound cheesy, fucking  _ cliche _ , but that doesn’t stop it from being true. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck during the day. Don’t get him wrong, it fucking does. Pretending that he’s fine, watching people go on as if nothing has fucking happened. He knows it’s unfair, because to them, nothing  _ did _ happen except a couple days off from school because of an “animal attack”, but it still hurts. 

Dustin and Lucas refuse to talk about it, about any of it, about what happened to Will or what happened to her. After they told Will about her in the hospital it was like she ceased to exist and it makes Mike want to scream. She  _ saved _ them, she saved all of them and he hates moving on and pretending like she never existed in their lives in the first place. 

But, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tries to go about his day. He hardly smiles, but it’s easy enough to pretend he’s okay when everyone around him is too. Even Will, who went through hell, plasters a smile on his face and doesn’t show any cracks. 

For the first time his parents arguments are a welcome distraction. The louder their voices are as they carry up the stairs to his bedroom, the quieter her voice in his head is. 

However, at night, when his parents have ceased their arguments in favor of sleep, and the Wheeler house is for once, the silent, peaceful home the neighborhood believes they are, Mike can’t get  _ any _ of it out of his head. 

The look on her face, the pleading look in her eyes as she looked at him one last time. 

His name on her lips, the last thing she said to him. 

The scream from her throat, the last memory he has of her before she disappeared into a cloud of dust. 

No trace of her left behind.

The memories overwhelm him and he wants to scream and cry and punch his pillow, but he can’t. Instead, it all weighs heavy on his chest and keeps him from sleeping, haunts him as soon as he closes his eyes, and flashes across his mind as he tosses and turns in bed, unable to breathe from the constant promise of tears that never come. 

He wants to cry, he wants to mourn. But everyone else is pretending they’re okay, so Mike doesn’t want to be the only one who isn’t. 

So, he pretends he’s okay too. 

 

* * *

 

**December 1983**

The Snowball comes and Mike pretends like he doesn’t notice. 

The guys come over, none of them mention what day it is, and Mike is grateful. Instead they sit in the living room, the monopoly board between them, uneaten bags of chips and unopened sodas scattered on the living room table. 

He ignores the looks his friends gave him. He can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re all wondering why they’re in the living room, an uncomfortable, open space that looks more fit for a cocktail party then anything they would do, and not in the basement. He doesn’t answer their unasked questions, too embarrassed. 

The truth was, the blanket fort was a crumbled mess, left disheveled from Mike falling asleep in it the night before. And he hadn’t gotten a chance to wash the snot covered blanket that was draped across the couch, the only remnant of the first time he had allowed himself to cry.

He wasn’t ready for any of them to know how truly, not okay, he really was. 

“Hey, maybe next time we can hang at my house.” Dustin says when they’re all tired of pretending that they’re having fun. Mike ignores the sting of tears that burn his eyes as he nods. “My mom makes really good cookies.” 

There was weak laughter and nods of agreement from the other boys and Mike tries to not think about the weight in his stomach as he throws the monopoly pieces into the box. He can’t really blame them, he doesn’t want to be here either. 

He’s reminded of her around every corner. He enters every room expecting to see her. It’s almost like she’s a ghost, haunting his unconscious and conscious mind. Sometimes he swears he feels her eyes on him as he moves around his room, barely aware of where his feet are taking him. 

As his friends walk out the door a couple minutes later, Mike pretends that he doesn’t see his parents looking at him. He knows they want to talk to him, but neither one of them have any idea what to say. It’s how they’ve been looking at him for weeks, and Mike doesn’t expect that to change anytime soon. 

His mom always looks like she wants to reach out for him, but is afraid that if she does, he’ll shatter like glass. Her eyes are always slightly widened as she watches him, and Mike knows she’s been monitoring how much he eats at the dinner table. His dad on the other hand, looks at him like he’s finally really realizing how much of a freak his only son is. 

“Mike.” His mom says softly as Mike tucks the monopoly game under his arm. She doesn’t say anything more though, merely eyeing him with a concerned twinkle as he walks past her towards the basement. 

Mike doesn’t answer, pretending that he doesn’t hear her. Her voice pierces his heart and when the door of the basement clicks behind him, he doesn’t even try to blink the tears away. 

He doesn’t want her to worry about him. He doesn’t  _ need _ her to worry about him. 

 

* * *

 

**Early January 1984**

With the breaking of a new year, Mike feels a shift among his friends.

Will is smiling a little bit more, and a little wider. There’s less of a hunch to his shoulders and he participates in their conversations more frequently. He really seems like he’s at least trying to be happier, and for the most part it seems to be working. Mike can’t tell if this is for their sakes, his mom’s sake or for Will himself, but he’s trying and that’s what matters. 

Mike’s not stupid though. He knows that sometimes it’s just an act. He sees the way Will’s eyes cloud over sometimes when the other boys are talking, or the way his hands start to shake when he’s sitting in the lunchroom. But almost as soon as Mike notices, Will stops. Like he knows Mike is watching him. 

He pretends like it doesn’t hurt that his best friend is hiding away. But he also knows he would be a fucking hypocrite for holding any real grudge. 

Dustin and Lucas are similarly more upbeat and happy when the new year strikes. 

The color has returned to Dustin’s cheeks, and his curls seem to be a little bouncier. It no longer feels like he’s cracking jokes to fill the silence, or to keep up an act, it feels more genuine now. 

Similarly, Lucas doesn’t seem quite as on edge now. Mike knows he doesn’t keep the wrist rocket in his backpack anymore, and he no longer hesitates before turning corners or exiting classrooms, like he’s stopping having nightmares about what could be waiting in the unknown.

Mike can’t even remember the last time any of them mentioned El’s name. 

They don’t talk about that night, or that week at all when El was with them. Mike knows it’s likely to avoid upsetting Will, but it still gnaws at his heart that they just pretend that it never happened. It feels wrong, to push it from their memories. He doesn’t want to be the one who brings it up, though. 

As much as he wants to remember what happened, to be able to talk about it, to honor her memory, he doesn’t want to make any of his friends upset. Especially when they’re all trying to move on and be okay. 

Just because he’s screwed up and doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be able to move on, doesn’t mean he needs to ruin everything for everyone else. He’d rather suffer in silence if it meant that his friends were all able to heal. 

 

* * *

 

**February 14, 1984**

_ “I made you a Valentine’s Day card. I know you probably uh, don’t know what Valentine’s Day is, but basically it’s when you, *sigh*, tell the people you lo-, I mean, care about that you, you know care about them.  _

_ I don’t really know why I made it, maybe it was stupid to do it. I didn’t even remember it was Valentine’s Day until Nancy started talking about Steve at breakfast this morning. Steve is Nancy’s boyfriend, gross, right? She’s happy though and I guess that’s all that matters. Everyone seems to be happy now, or at least halfway there.  _

_ Halfway happy is better than nothing, right?  _

_ I’m rambling again. Sometimes, *sigh*, I feel like you’re the only one I can really talk to. I miss you, El. I hope that I get to see you again soon.  _

_ Happy Valentine’s Day.” _

 

* * *

**March 1984**

Spring came early that year, the flowers blooming and the birds singing in mid March instead of the usual April. It was a welcome change, Mike thought optimistically, brightening up the long, dark and dreary days that seemed to have stretched on forever. 

Despite the welcome change however, the warm sunshine and green grass did little to make Mike feel any better. 

He still woke up in cold sweats in the middle of the night, that is when he actually managed to fall asleep at all, most nights spent tossing and turning until sun up. Mike could hardly even remember the last time he had eaten a real meal, at this point he had pretty much mastered pushing his food around to make it look like he was eating. 

The world around him was changing, but Mike still felt stuck. 

Stuck back on that fateful night back in November when the world seemed to shift off it’s axis in one single puff of smoke. Sometimes, Mike could still feel the dust in his lungs, and burn of the tears in his eyes of that night. It haunted him when he was awake, and asleep.

Him and Lucas fought that month. 

It wasn’t their worst fight ever,  _ no _ , Mike would think bitterly, nothing would ever top that day in the junkyard, the image of Lucas sailing through the air and El’s tear stained cheeks as he  _ unfairly _ screamed at her and the fear that lodged in his heart when she disappeared still played over and over in Mike’s head. But, it definitely was a bad one. 

Mike doesn’t even really remember how it started. All he knew was one day everything is fine and the next day him and Lucas weren’t speaking to each other and Dustin and Will were caught in the middle. He may not remember how it started, but he does know that it was probably his fault.

And Mike hated himself for not feeling sorry about it. 

Eventually him and Lucas make up, Dustin practically forces them to be in the same room together. It doesn’t make Mike feel any better, though. Sure, it’s nice not to be fighting with his oldest friend, but it doesn’t fill him with the warm, fuzzy, satisfied feeling that it usually does. 

It’s at this point that Mike is pretty sure his heart doesn’t work anymore. 

Sure, it still beats inside him, reminding him that he, unfortunately, is still alive. But the  _ feeling _ part of the heart, that helps him experience joy or sadness, or anything else really, he’s pretty sure that part doesn’t work anymore. Or maybe it disappeared. 

Disappeared in that same cloud of dust that El did. 

Mike wonders if he’ll ever get it back, if he’ll ever be able to feel anything besides the dull ache of existence, ever again. Sometimes, he feels sparks of  _ something _ . A sprinkle of happiness when Dustin cracks a joke, a pang of worry when he sees Will’s eyes cloud over for a brief moment. Anger, hot and white and fast, when his father makes remarks at the dinner table that make Mike clench his knife and fork and screw his eyes shut. 

At the same time, Mike wonders more if El will ever return. He still hasn’t told anyone about talking to her every night. His friends still refuse to say her name and whenever he thinks Nancy is going to talk to him about something, anything, she purses her lips and changes her mind at the last second. He hopes El comes back someday, or that at least she’s out there somewhere, and maybe her heart is in better shape then his.

He also can’t help but wonder if his heart and her disappearance are connected. 

 

* * *

 

**Early April 1984**

It’s a rainy, dreary Tuesday afternoon when Mike writes “ _ fuck Hawkins _ ” on the bathroom stall. 

He doesn’t really know exactly why he does it. He’s sitting in the stall, avoiding history with Mr. Kowalski, who’s still pissed at him for telling him to eat shit last week. He knows that avoiding class and being marked as absent, without a note, won’t help him in the long run, but he really can’t bring himself to care. 

Because, right now, he really just wants to fucking be alone. 

He has his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting against the heels of his hand, and his breathing is slow and heavy. He feels like he’s run a marathon even though he can’t remember the last time he participated in physical activity. He’s exhausted though, likely a byproduct of getting little to no sleep every night for the last six months. 

_ God _ . Six months. 

It feels like it’s been both a lifetime and no time at all since that fateful November night. 

As Mike sits in the stall, trying to ignore the way his heart speeds up ever so slightly whenever the bathroom door opens, fearing he’s been caught, he passes the time (and avoids thinking about El and the upside down and the demogorgon and Will disappearing and everything else that keeps him up at night) by looking at the graffiti that lines the walls of the stall. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of markings on the wall, ranging from crude drawings of teachers to girls’ phone numbers. 

Mike doesn’t know why he hasn’t noticed them before. But, he supposes it mainly has to do with his avoidance of the school bathrooms. Too many opportunities to be cornered by Troy and his cronies. 

As he stares at the various drawings and notes, something inside of him itches. He can feel his fingers twitch and his mind wanders to the black marker that sits in his pencil case at the bottom of his backpack. He’s barely had a use for it this year, until now, that it. 

With what can only be described as a surge of adrenaline, Mike rips his backpack open, the zipper making a loud rrr-ing sound. His fingers grope around for his pencil case, a small, satisfied grin falling onto his face when he pulls it out, the marker falling out as soon as Mike opens it. 

The first word comes to him quickly, the letters being etched across one of the few empty spots on the wall. However, it’s how he wants to finish the sentiment that trips him up. What or who does he want to curse out to the world. Well, the list goes on and on, really. 

Fuck his parents, for only really pretending to care. For not noticing that Mike’s a goddamn fucking mess. For acting as if Mike is just a troublemaker who doesn’t care anymore. 

Fuck his friends, for acting on as if they’re okay. For acting like that week ever happened and pretending like  _ she _ doesn’t exist. For looking at Mike strangely, like he’s an alien from another planet, like they pity him. 

Fuck Hopper, for avoiding Mike’s gaze every time Mike sees him. For pretending like he doesn’t care anymore, even though he told all of them he did. For not doing anything to make sure the lab disappears.

Fuck Nancy, for lying and telling him that they could talk and be honest with each other and then avoiding him whenever he sought her out. For being just as guilty as his parents for not noticing and pretending that Mike was fine. 

Fuck the lab, and Brenner, for being the reason that all this shit happened in the first place. For being responsible for Will being taken away. For making El scared and torturing her for years on end for their own sick enjoyment. 

And fuck El, for leaving him. For making him feel like he finally found someone who understood him, only to have her ripped away. For leaving a giant hole in his chest, for making him feel something for her and then abandoning him. 

Taking a deep breath, Mike wiped the tears that had appeared in his eyes. Sobs were sitting heavily on his chest, and he forced himself to keep them down, not wanting to be known as the kid who sobbed in the bathroom during sixth period. 

It was then that the perfect word came to him. 

Mike realized, sitting in the second floor bathroom in Hawkins Middle School, that it was everything about this town that was making him feel this way. He wanted an escape, he wanted out. He didn’t want to be here anymore, in this town, with these people and the constant reminders. 

It’s just too bad he got caught before he could put the cap back on his marker. 

 

* * *

 

**May 1984**

Mike’s dad gets a promotion in May. 

It’s not that exciting, at least not by Mike’s standards. All that really changes is his dad comes home later, grumpier and with more money in his pocket. Something his mother is  _ extremely _ pleased with it. 

It’s because of all this, that Mike finds himself at the fanciest restaurant in town on a Friday night near the beginning of May. 

His whole family is there, including his aunt, who made the drive from Indianapolis. Mike knows she came under the guise of supporting her brother, Mike’s dad, but really, she just wants to gossip about Mike’s cousins with his mom. 

Nancy is the only one who looks as uncomfortable as Mike feels, but she’s better at hiding it when one of their parents looks their way. Mike, however, feels stiff and small in his suit jacket that his mother forced him into and he barely is able to eat any of his food. 

Holly is the only one who talks to him all night. 

That isn’t much though, because his mom and aunt are really the only ones who say much of anything during the entire meal. His aunt pretends to care about Nancy’s studies, and his dad grumbles his opinions on his extended family members every so often. Even Holly knows better than to babble as she usually does, choosing instead to move her food around on her plate and color on the kids menu. 

Mike feels horribly out of place, which really isn’t much of a new family. Ever since Mike had been caught vandalising the bathroom and given a week’s detention with a threat of more if he got caught doing anything again, his parents had been giving him the pretty bad cold shoulder and tonight was no different. Mike can’t even remember the last time his mom had smiled at him. 

He feels like a stranger sitting at that restaurant. A stranger wearing an oversized jacket and pants that feel tight around his ankles because he can’t stop growing, not that he feels like either his parents have noticed. 

Later that night, he sits in his blanket fort, suit jacket discarded, but khakis still on, squeezing the skin around his ankles, but he doesn’t care. His supercomm is clutched tightly in his hands and tears are threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. 

It’s hitting him harder tonight, then it usually does. That cold, empty feeling of loneliness and heartbreak. He feels like he’s floating in the middle of the ocean, not quite drowning, but not quite surviving either. 

He just wants to feel  _ normal  _ again. He wants to stop feeling like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. 

But, his heart got torn out and disappeared into the upside down in a cloud of smoke. And he’s starting to think he may never get it back. 

 

* * *

 

**Late June 1984**

Summer comes, blistering, hot and loud that year. 

With that, his friends start finding solace in the local arcade. It’s air conditioned and El had never been there before, so Mike welcomes the change. It’s one of the few places he can go without being reminded of her. 

June is a good month. 

Sure, Mike still has nightmares almost every night, and his parents are still walking on eggshells around him, but it’s the best month he’s had in a while and that’s something he’s not going to complain. 

However, Mike’s not an idiot. He might feel like he’s losing his mind, and he still spends every night curled up in the blanket fort (which is even  _ more _ unbarable in this fucking heat), but he’s not an idiot. He knows that this good feeling, this feeling of acceptance and belonging with his friends that’s been lacking for months now, isn’t going to last. 

He tries to enjoy himself, he laughs, he smiles and his nightly calls to El are less desperate then they have been. But he knows deep down that it can’t last, that it  _ won’t _ last. So his days, and his nights are spent on edge, apprehension filling in his entire body. 

He may be happy, at least for now, but the other shoe is about to drop. Mike can only hope he won’t totally break him. 

 

* * *

 

**July 1984**

It’s about mid July when Mike almost hurts himself. And not on accident. 

He’d heard stories about people doing stuff like this before. People who purposefully scarred their skin or broke their bones, all in an effort to feel something that had been lacking from their lives. 

He had never thought he would be someone who would ever feel like that. But of course, those stories came to him before. Before everything had changed. Before he had ever felt like this. Before he had jumped off a cliff for Dustin. Before he had felt the soul crushing emptiness that had been living inside him. 

Now, he knew why those people did what they did. 

He understood now, better then he wished he did, why people would intentionally hurt themselves. He understood what it meant to be so desperate to feel something that you would bring pain to yourself. 

Mike didn’t ever think he would be one of those people. But on a warm afternoon in the middle of July, he almost was. 

The Wheeler house was empty, his mom with Holly at the pool, Nancy with Steve and his dad at work, which left Mike all alone. His friends hadn’t called to ask if he wanted to hang out, so he assumed that they were all busy too, which was perfectly fine with Mike. He really didn’t want to get out of bed, so he was embracing the silence and emptiness of his house. 

It had been a bad night last night. 

El had come to him in his dreams, as she did most nights in which he managed to sleep. Sometimes she was just there, in the corner of his subconscious, but sometimes she was the star and last night was an example of the latter. 

But unfortunately, when El was the star, that usually meant something bad was going to happen. And last night, something bad had happened indeed. Mike could barely remember exactly what, but when he had awoken at about 4:30am, tears in his eyes and his legs tangled in his sheets and sweat covering his forehead and back and pretty much every other inch of skin, there was only one image burned into his mind. 

El, covered in blood, lying limp in his arms. Her eyes had been glazed over and her mouth puckered open and her last words, his name, echoing in his ears. 

Mike hadn’t gotten much sleep after that. 

Now, it was almost three in the afternoon and Mike still hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. His stomach moaned with empty hunger, and his body was weak with exhaustion, but try as he might he could neither get out of bed, or fall back asleep. 

His heart was beating slowly and quietly in his chest, the only reminder that he was still alive, even though he didn’t feel it. In fact, as Mike lie there, he didn’t, couldn’t, feel anything. He barely reacted to the sharp pains stemming from his stomach, and he hardly cared that his head was aching with thirst, hunger and exhaustion all at once. 

He rolls over on his bed, a small and unassuming motion, however, he underestimates the length of his limbs and his leg slams against his bedroom wall, hard. The sensation shoots up his entire body, sending a satisfied tingle down his spine. Despite the part of his brain screaming at him, Mike smiles. 

He hits his leg against the wall again, but the surprising shoot of pain isn’t there anymore. Mike sighs, disappointed. He should have known it would be too good to be true. 

Desperately, Mike sits up in bed, looking for something that can help bring that sensation back. That beautiful, spine tingling, mind numbing sensation back. He practically jumps out of bed when he spots the perfect solution. 

Haphazardly and hardly caring if he makes a mess of his room, Mike makes his way to his desk, smiling as he pulls his scissors from the pencil tin. He’d never noticed quite how sharp they are, but now as he looks at them, the blades glint almost tauntingly in the afternoon sun streaming in through the window. 

Mike can barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears, and his hands shake as he brings one of the blades to his skin. He’s about to break skin when something stops him. He doesn’t know if it’s his conscious or what, but the scissors fall to the floor with an unceremonious  _ thud _ .

_ What the hell is he doing? _

Doing this isn’t going to bring El back. It’s not going to make his parents care. It’s not going to make him feel any better. At least not actually better. 

So with his eyes screwed shut, and a loud sigh falling from his lips, Mike stumbles back to bed. His wrists tingle where he almost scarred them, and he shoves his hands between his legs, curling his body up into itself. 

Today was a bad day. But all he can do is hope that tomorrow will be better. 

 

* * *

 

**Late August 1984**

The boys have a sleep over the weekend before school starts. They have one every year, only this year, instead of being held in Mike’s basement, it’s at Will’s house. None of them talk about why, but they all understand. 

Usually the night is fun, one of the funnest of the year. The boys usually stay up most of the night, telling funny ghost stories and eating too much junk food. But Mike knows before he even shows up for the night that this year will be different, just like everything else about this year has.

Joyce, for what it’s worth, tries her hardest to make it fun for them. She orders pizza, a large with pepperoni at Dustin’s insistence, she lets them watch an R rated movie, which they don’t do in lieu of Lucas and Will wanting to watch Return of the Jedi instead. But, it just doesn’t feel the same. 

Mike spends most of the night on the couch, elbows on his knees, only barely paying attention to anything. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of the ticking clock. Before he knows, it’s almost ten o’clock and the weight of his supercomm at the bottom of his backpack is heavy against his leg. 

He hadn’t gotten a chance to call El before he left, his mom spending the afternoon vacuuming and tidying the basement. Mike had barely had enough time to grab his supercomm before his mom was hurrying him out the door. 

He  _ needs _ to call her. He hasn’t missed a day since the day she disappeared and he’s not about to miss a day now. 

His hands curl into fists against his thigh and his leg begins to shake nervously, grabbing the attention of his friends, who had all been looking at the tv. Dustin’s eyebrows are curled together in confusion and Lucas looks like he wants to say something, but Mike avoids their gazes. 

“I have to go the bathroom.” He says suddenly, grabbing his backpack and practically sprinting to the bathroom. He knows his friends will ask him what the hell his problem is, and Joyce will fuss over him, thinking he’s sick, but he doesn’t care. 

He  _ needs _ to call El. 

As he sits on the floor of the Byers’ bathroom, supercomm clutched in his hand, his face warm and his eyes watering, he wonders if he should tell his friends. Tell them about calling El, but he doesn’t think any of them would understand, and they probably would think he was crazy. 

They’d tell him that she’s gone. That she’s probably not coming back. That even if she was out there, she can’t hear him. 

He  _ knows _ that’s not true though. None of that is. He  _ needs _ it to not be true. El is still out there, sure, maybe she’s not listening to him, but she’s out there. She’s alive. She’s okay. 

His call that night is short, just telling El that he’s still there, waiting for her and that he hopes she’s doing okay. That he’ll call her again tomorrow and that if she can, give him a sign that she’s listening, and that she’s okay. 

When he leaves the bathroom a couple minutes later, backpack clutched to his chest, he takes a deep breath. He knows it’s probably silly, silly to be holding onto hope this much later, but he can’t help it. He holds onto that hope like it’s a lifeline and he knows if he stops, he’ll have failed. He’ll have failed her, and he’ll have failed himself. 

If he doesn’t hope that someday El might come back, then he doesn’t have anything else to live for. 

 

* * *

 

**September 1984**

“Hey, kid.” 

Mike’s eyes are staring at the sidewalk, so it takes him a couple seconds to realize the voice he heard was talking to him. Looking up, he squints as the sun hits his eyes, Chief Hopper’s large frame not quite filling up his entire line of vision.

He has to admit, it’s more than a little surprising for Hopper to be talking to him. Mike doesn’t think he’s spoken two words to the Chief since that fateful night at the school. In fact that last memory that Mike has of the older man interacting with him was when he placed a firm hand on Mike’s shoulder at the hospital before passing him off into the care of his parents. 

At the time, Mike had almost wanted Hopper to take him with him. 

“You waiting for Will?” Hopper asks after Mike doesn’t respond. Mike nods. He’s leaning against the front window of Melvad’s, Will inside making sure it’s okay that he goes to Mike’s house until dinner time. 

There’s another long beat of silence and Mike stands up straighter under Hopper’s gaze. Something about the way the older man is looking at him makes Mike’s hands twitch against the fabric of his jeans. 

“Everything going alright?” Hopper implores, his voice is soft and genuine and Mike’s heart squeezes in his chest. Any words that Mike might say in response die in his throat and he swallows, hard. 

All he can do is nod and hope that Hopper doesn’t ask him any more questions. Mike doesn’t trust himself not to slip up if Hopper were to question him further. 

Luckily, Mike is saved by the bell, both metaphorically and literally as the Melvad’s door dings softly as Will opens it, joining Mike out on the sidewalk.

Will and Hopper share a moment, which involves Hopper ruffling Will’s hair affectionately, before he turns to Mike one more time. 

“Take care, kid.” He says, a hint of what Mike thinks might be a smile on his face before he turns on his heels and takes off down the sidewalk. Mike resists the urge to follow him, feeling just as small as he had that night in the hospital, wanting Hopper to take him home and care about him in a way that Mike didn’t think his own father was capable of. 

He doesn’t though, reality crashing down on him as Will touches his arm lightly to get his attention. The two of them begin walking in the opposite direction, towards Mike’s home, but what Hopper said echoes in Mike’s ears with every step he takes. 

He can’t remember the last time someone had asked him if he was okay. 

 

* * *

 

**October 1984**

It’s the middle of October when Mike thinks he sees her. 

He’s roaming the hallways during class, doing his best to avoid teachers and not get caught. Mr. Kowalski will probably yell at him when he discovers that Mike skipped class, and Mike will probably yell back and land himself in detention, but he hardly cares.

He finds that these days he doesn’t care about a lot of things. He’s just tired and wants it all to stop. But it doesn’t, and he can’t make it stop. So he just doesn’t care anymore.

In fact, he can count the amount of things he cares about on one hand. His friends being safe, his sisters being happy and El. Unfortunately, Will has been acting weird and Nancy hasn’t smiled in months and it doesn’t look like El is coming back anytime soon. So, Mike is having a hard time caring about much of anything.

It’s all just so exhausting. 

Mike is exhausted. 

Which is why he’s roaming the halls instead of sitting in class. At least if he’s roaming the halls, he’s doing something with his jittery legs and his anxious mind. He can focus on not getting caught or ducking around corners, not being forced to listen to Mr. Kowalski drone on and on about why the Civil War is important. Mike already knows why it’s important anyway, he doesn’t need to listen to a more boring version of a history lesson he already knows. 

He’s turning the corner of the science wing, en route to the AV room, where he knows no one will find him, when something appears in the corner of his eye that makes him stop in his tracks. A flash of pink and blonde hair disappear around the corner on the other end of the hallway and before Mike knows it he’s chasing after it, running faster then he ever has before.

_ El. _

He knows deep down that it’s not her, she had ditched the blonde wig hours before she had disappeared, discarding it somewhere in the woods, and her pink dress had been more brown than pink, but Mike’s heart, his poor, discarded and torn up heart that’s desperate to beat happily again, overtakes his logic. 

Mike barely notices how far he’s followed this figment of his imagination until he finds himself outside on the field. Luckily, there’s no gym classes going on this period, so there’s no one outside to watch him stand there, chest heaving as he looks around like a crazy person. 

“El.” Her name leaves his lips before he can stop it and the tears come rolling down his cheeks and he can only barely wipe at them haphazardly. He sinks to his knees, his legs giving out underneath him as he falls to the ground. 

A sob escapes his chest and Mike can barely breathe as the world closes in around him, making him feel small and curl up on the ground. In the distance he can hear noises, the cars on the street, the distant whirring of a police siren, dull murmurs of voices inside the school. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s out here, curled up on the ground. His whole body shaking with the biting chill in the air and the sobs that run through his entire body. The school bell rings and Mike doesn’t move, not even when he hears kids on the field. 

Eventually he gets discovered, the principal locating him after he didn’t show up to science class, Mr. Clarke, who was worried, which twists and pulls at Mike’s heart strings, in tow. Luckily, he doesn’t get into too much trouble, just detention the next day, although you’d think he was expelled by how mad his mom was when she picked him up twenty minutes later. 

He hardly cares though, and that night when he calls El, he tells her about how he thought he saw her that day. He hopes that maybe the story will make her happy and that she’ll want to come home so he can see her for real. 

Tomorrow he’ll wake him, and the hope will be gone, and will be replaced with the familiar loneliness and despair that have become his closest friends, but for now he’s going to hold onto the tiny bit of hope that lives in his heart. 

And pray that it carries him on.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you guys so much for reading. this fic means so much to me so i'm happy that i'm finally able to share it with the world. hopefully once s3 is here, i'll have inspiration to write more happy, fluffy mileven. i hope you all enjoyed.


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